


The Coventry Affair

by HopeCoppice



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crack, Fade to Black, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, Other, also I know Coventry is a city not a town, but in the 1050s it probably wasn't, lady godiva, many liberties have been taken here, one canon-similar swear, with apologies to the historical and mythological figures slandered herein
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 16:42:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20491973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeCoppice/pseuds/HopeCoppice
Summary: The first road test for the Arrangement was in the mid-11th century, and it happened to take place in Coventry.Or: Crowley is perfectly capable of stirring lust and helping the poor at the same time. Aziraphale can't even keep a window closed on command.





	The Coventry Affair

**Author's Note:**

> I apologise for the sheer idiocy of this, I just... the idea came to mind and I couldn't resist.

**1054 AD, Fritzlar, Germany**

“I’ve been sent to Coventry.” Aziraphale said, and Crowley scoffed.

“Well, it’s probably a relief, isn’t it? Gabriel could talk the hind leg off a-”[1]

“I mean, I have to _ go _there. To alleviate the suffering of the poor, or something.”

“Oh. Well, as it happens, I’m headed that way myself. The usual temptation-stirring. Want to toss a coin for it?”

“Crowley, we really _ can’t-_”

“Look, it’s a small one. How about I go up first and give it a shot, the good and the bad, and then if it all goes wrong you can come up and heroically thwart me.”

Aziraphale could feel himself losing the argument, already. “How will I know if it goes wrong?”

“Well, fine. Come up anyway, give it a day so it doesn’t look like we're travelling together, and you can see how I do.”

“I still don’t know-”

“Just once, angel. Just try it once.”

“...Well, all right, my dear. You go ahead, and I shall follow.”

* * *

**1054 AD, Coventry, England**

Aziraphale arrived in Coventry a full week after Crowley, thanks to an unfortunate storm over the English Channel, and was relieved to see him sidle into the town's easternmost tavern at dusk all the same.

“You’re late,” Crowley pointed out, but Aziraphale waved away the concern.

“And you’ve had plenty of time for your temptations. So, is the job done?”

“It’s not the temptations that have been taking the time, angel. Your poor will be alleviated, don’t you worry, it’s all in hand.”

“Do I want to know how you plan to do it?”

“Nobody’s getting _ hurt_, angel, don’t you worry about that.”

“Then-?”

“Just a little harmless bending of reality. The important thing is, tomorrow, everyone’s going to be staying inside and keeping their windows covered, and you should do the same. Who knows what sort of demonic nonsense you’d see if you didn’t?”

“That’s it? Just stay inside and don’t look out?”

“Yeah - for your own soul’s sake, of course. If you saw me working, you might feel the urge to thwart, and then where would we be? Trust me, angel. I’ll get it done.”

“Trust you? You’re a demon.” For a moment, he thought he’d offended Crowley, but then he laughed.

“All right, angel. Then wait until tomorrow night’s announcement, and _ then _maybe you’ll believe me. This… arrangement, it can work.”

“I believe you, dear.” 

“Well, then. Same time, same place, tomorrow.” Crowley stood to leave, then hesitated. “Although, since you’re here…” He shrugged. “It would be great if it was a nice day tomorrow. Warm and sunny, you know. Just for a change.”

He left before Aziraphale could question it, and the angel frowned. Well, since he _ was _here… it might as well be warm and sunny, he supposed.

* * *

  


The next day dawned bright and clear, unseasonably warm for so early in May. Sure enough, an official rode along the town’s main thoroughfare just before the church bells were to ring the eleventh hour, yelling orders at the general populace.

“Shut your doors! Clap your windows down! Shut your doors! Clap your windows down!”

A maid bustled into Aziraphale’s room, slammed the window shutters, latched them, glared at him in warning, and left again, presumably to terrorise some other guest.

For a few minutes after that, the town seemed uncharacteristically silent… and then Aziraphale heard the clop-clop-shuffle-clop of a horse not quite at ease with its rider. The hoofbeats came closer, and with them a certain unmistakable demonic aura he knew very well. What on earth was Crowley playing at? How could he possibly intend to alleviate the suffering of the poor by putting the whole town under house arrest? No, there must be something underhanded going on; Aziraphale unhooked the latch and pushed the shutters open just a crack, just enough to peek at the scene unfolding outside.

A horse was indeed skittering nervously along the street, but its rider sat tall, apparently supremely unbothered by either the horse’s antics or their own nudity - for the elegant figure was indeed naked, covered only by wave upon wave of red hair that flowed down to their ankles. There was, however, a rather noticeable gap in the long tresses, a narrow flash of leg visible right up to the rider’s hip. Then Crowley glanced over his shoulder, and Aziraphale closed the window with a sharp click, latching it hurriedly with fingers that didn’t seem to work quite right.

The angel perched anxiously on the edge of his bed and listened until the hoofbeats faded away. His fingers curled into the sheets as he tried to control his breathing, doing his best to keep from dwelling on the image of his adversary - and, though he hated to admit it, his best friend - riding _ naked _ through the town. His mind seemed uncomfortably stuck on those beautiful long red waves, protecting Crowley’s modesty but not the angel’s. _ Aziraphale _ felt as though his whole world had been turned upside down by that gorgeous, distracting hair of Crowley’s - he’d always admired it, but he’d never thought he’d see it like _ that. _

“Go about your business! Throw open the windows and doors! Go about your business! Throw open…” The crier’s call faded once more, and the same maid bustled in. She took one look at Aziraphale, clearly flustered and sitting far too primly on the bed, and rolled her eyes.

“Men. There’s not a one in the inn who’s not got mischief on his mind, now. Nor some of the womenfolk, either.” She unlatched the shutters as she spoke, slammed them open, and left with another glare. Aziraphale had no idea what to make of that, for a moment, and then a moan from the room next door led him to some rather swift conclusions.

That cunning demon; this had been a temptation, all along! If the clientele of the Two Tailors were any indication, the whole city must be awash with lust - telling everyone not to look as he rode naked through the streets, of _ course _ it would set pulses racing and minds wandering - and where was the relief for the poor? He certainly hoped Crowley wasn’t planning on claiming credit for their _ sexual _relief…

They had arranged to meet in the bar of the easternmost inn again, and that was what Aziraphale meant to do, despite his fear that he might not dare to look Crowley in the eye. They needed to debrief, after all - good Heavens, that was a poor choice of phrase under the circumstances - and Aziraphale needed to take the wily serpent to task about his lack of miracles. It was his own fault, of course, for trusting a demon, but that didn’t mean _ Crowley _ was off the hook. Oh, no. He was in for a very stern talking-to, very stern indeed.

Crowley was already settled at a table with a cheap bottle of wine - the contents of which were probably materially improved upon their former state - and two cups. He looked rather pleased with himself.

“Any minute now,” he said, in lieu of greeting, and Aziraphale sat down with a huff.

“What, your commendation for getting one over on an angel?”

“Getting one over- what do you mean?”

“Oh, of _ course _ you should delay your trip, I’ll do your miracle for you - unless, of course, I don’t because I’ve decided to _ stir up all the lust in the area _instead.”

“What? No! No, it’s done, look, I had to try to be a _ bit _subtle this first time, right?”

“Subtle!” Aziraphale scoffed. “You call riding a horse naked through town _ subtle?_”

“How’d you know? Nobody was supposed to look-”

“People _ talk,_ Crowley,” Aziraphale snapped, and Crowley shut his mouth with an audible click, as if he’d gone directly to gritting his teeth. “Go on, then. How did _ that _ help with _ my _work?”

“Well, if-”

The door slammed open, and the room fell quiet.

“A pronouncement from Leofric, Earl of Mercia! As promised, upon his lady’s riding naked through the town, the Earl in his graciousness declares that there shall be no tax due from the people of Coventry, and most particularly that the tax upon the ownership of horses is hereby lifted. Thanks be to the Earl, and to his lady.” The crier left, no doubt already on his way to another public house, and the entire tavern burst into cheers.

“We’re not closing down after all, lads!” The bartender called, and one of the ostlers swept him into a hug.

Later, among all the drunken merriment, Aziraphale leant in close to Crowley.

“His lady, hm?”

“I told you. A little temptation to get him gambling foolish things on his wife’s courage in the first place, a little muddying of the waters so he thought it was her, so _ she _ thought she’d done it… no sign I was ever here." Aziraphale didn't bother to point out that Crowley could have just tempted her into doing it for real; compelling a woman to public nudity wouldn't have sat well with Heaven or, he suspected, with Crowley. "Besides, nobody but the Earl saw it, so it’s not even as though it was that naughty. _ You _could have done it.”

“I certainly could not,” Aziraphale retorted. “For one thing, I’ve never grown my hair long, and I certainly wouldn’t make an exception for _ that_.”

“All right, angel.” Crowley took another sip of his wine, then frowned. “Wait, who said anything about my hair?”

“Oh, is that the time? I’d better get back to the Two Tailors before Tom locks up.” And with that, Aziraphale, Angel of the Eastern Gate, ran away from the awkward conversation as fast as his legs could carry him.

He couldn’t deny that it had been a success, though, when nobody from Heaven saw fit to question him about it. Over the centuries, the Arrangement continued, and then the world didn’t end and Heaven and Hell ceased to matter.

* * *

**2019 AD, London, England**

With nothing much to do, Aziraphale and Crowley found themselves holed up in the bookshop more often than not, drinking wine - _ lots _of wine, very good wine - and talking about old times.

“Will you ever grow your hair long again?” Aziraphale gestured a little too wildly with his wineglass, only his own expectations keeping the wine inside the glass at all. “You know… really, really long? Like Coventry?”

“Nah. No, Coventry was ridiculous. Nobody should have hair that long unless they’re going to be going about without clothes. Tell you what, though, naked horse-riding… even harder on the buttocks than the normal kind. I don’t recommend it.”

“I liked your hair that long, though,” Aziraphale told him, “you looked very pretty. Even if it _ did _cover you all up except one leg.”

“You didn’t even see me, angel.”

“I did. Peeked.”

“That was you? I _ knew _I heard a window shut-”

“Yeah, I thought you were up to no good. Sorry.” He wasn’t sorry, not really, and judging by Crowley’s amused and faintly horrified smile, he’d said as much out loud rather than in his head where he’d meant to say it. “Would have been a shame to miss it,” he mumbled.

Crowley laughed, tossing his head, and all of a sudden his hair spilled down to the floor in rich auburn waves. “You like this?” 

Aziraphale reached out to touch, surprised when Crowley leant his head into his hand. He lifted one long ringlet - goodness, this much hair was _ heavy _ \- and frowned accusingly. “You’re still wearing clothes.”

“Yes, I am. Sober up, angel.”

Aziraphale pouted, but he sobered up, and watched Crowley do the same, hissing as the usual instant hangover hit him.

“Of _ course _ I’m still wearing clothes. You’re not offering to suspend taxes in London if I take them off, after all.”

“Yes. Right. Sorry. It’s just, I remember that day so clearly-”

“It was warm,” Crowley said, as if that mattered at all, “you gave me such nice weather for it.”

“I’ve spent years, decades probably, over all those centuries, just trying to forget the way you looked.” Aziraphale smiled apologetically. “It’s no wonder you spread so much lust.”

“I got a commendation for that one,” Crowley admitted, and then what Aziraphale had said seemed to sink in. “Wait- did I get you too, angel?”

“Well, if you weren’t considerate enough to exclude me from your _ temptations-_”

“No, no, I wasn’t _ tempting _ anyone, not the demonic way. People’s imaginations just ran a little wild, and the rest followed after. I wouldn’t have tempted _ you_, angel, wouldn’t have been fair. The Arrangement, and all.”

“Then-?” 

Aziraphale knew he had turned very red, and Crowley was looking at him with a dawning comprehension that was hard to face. He stared down into his wineglass, instead, but that did nothing to block out the sound of Crowley’s next question.

“Did you _ lust _ for me, angel? Untempted?”

“Oh, I was tempted,” Aziraphale muttered darkly.

“But- wh- you don’t-”

“Of course I lusted after you, Crowley!” It came out of him with the force of a spooked horse, the ear-splitting volume of a window-latch falling loose. “I’ve been thinking about you ever since - your _ hair_, your _ skin _ \- and I feel _ terrible _about it!”

“Terrible?” Suddenly, the whisper of long red hair across the floor, across Aziraphale’s _ knee_, alerted him to Crowley’s movement; the demon was perching next to him, leaning close. “Why?”

“Because it’s a violation, thinking about you like that - because you told me not to look, and I did - because I didn’t trust you - because you don’t want _ me _-”

“Bollocks,” Crowley told him sharply, “I’ve wanted you since the wall. I’ve _ loved _you since the wall, anyway. Not sure when the urge to climb you like an apple tree started.”

“What?”

He looked up to find that Crowley’s hair had fallen in front of his face, a veil between them to spare their blushes.

“I’ve loved you since the wall,” Crowley repeated quietly, as if he was confessing a sin, “the wall of Eden. I don’t mind that you don’t love me back, but you don’t have to apologise for lusting over me. It… feels nice, actually.”

“But I do love you. Of course I do.” Aziraphale had thought that was obvious; how could he possibly do anything else, after all the scrapes they’d got one another into and out of over the years? “I just also think you look absolutely, devastatingly _gorgeous_ naked.”

“Do I, now.” Oh, hell, he was in trouble now; Aziraphale knew that voice. It was practically a purr, the low, sultry voice Crowley used when he wanted to make a bad idea sound like the best Aziraphale had ever heard. “Are you sure you’re remembering it right? It’s been a long time since Coventry.”

“I’m sure,” Aziraphale confirmed, but then a daring idea came to him. He reached out, pushing the hair away from Crowley’s eyes until he could look right into them. He searched for any sign of fear or discomfort, but found only mischief, and that mischief made him bold. “You could… you could remind me,” Aziraphale whispered, and Crowley hissed softly under his breath.

“If you knew what you do to me, angel…”

“I could do more,” the angel told him, voice urgent now, not knowing what he wanted but certain that he wanted it more badly than he had ever wanted anything.

“You can,” Crowley murmured, “but first-”

Then he brought their lips together, and Aziraphale reached out to tangle his hands in that gorgeous hair he’d been dreaming of for a millennium… and then Crowley snapped his fingers. Aziraphale drew back, surprised, but nothing seemed to have changed - and then the demon shifted slightly, one pale knee briefly surfacing above the copper waves.

“Oh, _ fuck_,” Aziraphale breathed, and claimed his lips again.

**Author's Note:**

> 1 The origins of the phrase ‘sent to Coventry’ in the sense of being ostracised or not spoken to, while disputed, are certainly from after the time depicted here, but then again, the expression ‘that went down like a lead balloon’ would also not be used by anyone but Crowley for several thousand years after his first use of it, so let’s not worry about it too much.[return to text]


End file.
